


Spare the Dying

by Juniper_Tree



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Government Experimentation, Harringrove Holiday Exchange, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Monsters, Past Abuse, Soft Billy Hargrove, Steve Harrington's Nail Bat, Unethical Experimentation, creepy basement, its a holiday exchange but does halloween still count
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-26 22:11:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17150009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Juniper_Tree/pseuds/Juniper_Tree
Summary: Billy and Steve end up in an abandoned hospital, trying to keep everyone alive, including themselves.





	Spare the Dying

**Author's Note:**

> My fic for wndasmaximoffs for the Harringrove Holiday Exchange! Happy Holidays to all! Really loved writing for someone else's interests and all of this has been a lot of fun!

Billy crossed over the entryway through the sliding doors. The hospital was colder than it had been outside, even in the frozen-ground, snow-dusted Indiana woods. The last bits of twilight pulled themselves through the trees, but died on the concrete steps approaching the doors. The lobby was dark.

Harrington stepped inside after him. He was quiet. His footsteps disappeared into the rustling of the woods behind him, like he had been blown to the spot beside Billy instead of choosing to be there.

But he had chosen. To be there. Which was fucked, honestly, since the odds of getting out of this whole thing seemed increasingly slim.

Billy eyed the bat hanging out of Harrington’s hand. It was building up layers of grime. Steve hadn’t bothered to wash it, which was surprising with him being so attached to it. But Steve had said a lot of things were too much for him, and maybe scratching his fingernails against layers of monster guts was just one of those _things_. In the fuzzy, drug-affected memories Billy had from the Byer’s house it was shiny, almost colorful from the Christmas lights. It was dull now. Faded into the long stretch of February.

“What is this place?” Harrington breathed, digging in his pocket for a flashlight. He clicked it on, dragging a circle of light across tiled hallways and wooden doors.

Billy’s head surged. Another one of those _fucking_ headaches. He could feel the back of his head lighting up, aching. Probably a vitamin deficiency or something from being starved of the sun for too long, thanks to how Indiana winters kept dragging on and on. His hand reached up to tug at his hair, which had never actually _helped_ but neither did ibuprofen or alcohol or caffeine, even, and he still kept using those. So.

Steve ducked his head to look at Billy’s face. “What’s wrong?”

Billy didn’t look back. Even in his peripherals he could catch the softness of Steve’s hair, the way his mouth hung open in concern, his ridiculous deer eyes. All things that he didn’t have time to be thinking about. Not today, _pretty boy_. He dropped his hand into this pocket. “It’s nothing.”

Steve’s shoulders rolled back towards the hallway in front of them. “Where do we go?”

Billy grunted and snatched the flashlight out of Harrington’s hand. “The fuck would I know?”

Billy started walking down the biggest hallway running down the central line of the building, flicking the flashlight back and forth ahead of him. Steve followed behind closely, matching Billy’s footsteps, barely making a sound as he shadowed Billy’s movements. They passed reception desks, carpeted rooms, tiled rooms, rooms with tables, rooms with cabinets and mirrors and stray scraps of medical supplies. Billy would’ve been sure it was abandoned, if not for the fact that El had told them she was there, in so many words, crackling a location through to Mike’s radio, trapped somewhere by the white-coated pricks that would do anything to get to her. Had done everything to get to her.

Billy flashed his light forward, noticing the end of the hallway approaching. He slowed slightly, seeing the elevator off to the side. The buttons glowed dimly, the bottom one flickering every once in a while. He didn’t like it. Didn’t trust it, maybe. He wanted something more solid, predictable. Stairs.

He found them behind a heavy metal door and pushed through into a landing. He paused for a moment before deciding to head downward. Steve followed behind him.

Billy got three steps down before a sharp _CLANG_ exploded from behind him. First, the sound of the metal door swinging closed, then the sound of Harrington dropping his fucking bat on the steps, looking on dumbly as it tottered noisily on both ends before starting to roll downwards.

Billy felt every muscle in his body tense. His head lit up again, but this time the ensuing panic shot through his arms, taking over his movements while his head lagged behind. He spun around, grabbing the bat off the steps before crowding Harrington into the corner of the landing. Jesus fucking _christ_ , that was loud. Instinctively he closed his hand over Harrington’s mouth, making goddamn sure that they would be absolutely fucking silent until they were sure they hadn’t been found out. The flashlight ended up on the floor, and Billy spun it under his boot to face the door.

Billy leaned into the wall against Harrington, his eyes trained on the heavy metal door to their side, the nail bat raised menacingly in its direction. Waiting.

He stayed still. Focused on breathing through the panic in his gut and the waves of pain sloshing around in his brain. Between all the bad coping habits that Billy had picked up, he had at least learned _this._ He at least knew that when Neil- or anyone- had him backed into a corner, he at least knew how to keep fucking breathing.

After a minute he shifted his focus back towards Harrington, who was so stiff that Billy figured he _wasn’t fucking breathing at all,_ which was unsurprising, honestly.

“ _Breathe,_ pretty boy.” Billy whispered, loosening his palm across Harrington’s mouth. He left his arm pressed across Harrington’s shoulders, because judging by the shake in them and the blown-out look in his eyes, he was ready to bolt at any goddamn second and Billy was not about to deal with _that._

Steve breathed out slowly, warm air slipping in between Billy’s fingers. His face was draped in shadows. It eased a moment before “sorry” passed silently into Billy’s palm.

Billy checked the door before spinning further into Harrington’s body, dropping his fingers across Steve’s shoulder to push him more harshly into the wall, hearing the knock of his skull against cement, dampened slightly by hair. He was going for intimidating, but Harrington’s body relaxed slightly, leaning into the pressure. The air in their corner of the stairwell warmed, evened out as Billy felt his forearm rise and fall against Steve’s chest. Billy stared him down, and Steve steadied his gaze back at him.

“Harrington, if you’re that scared, then you better get the fuck out of here.” Billy rasped.

Harrington twisted his torso uncomfortably and shifted his feet, his pretty white sneakers nudging uselessly at Billy’s boots. “I’m not- I can’t just _leave_ you here.”

Billy rolled his eyes back towards the door. “Yeah, because you’ve been tremendously helpful so far.”

“Shut up, asshole,” Steve wriggled against the death grip Billy had on his shoulder. “You don’t know what we’re up against and I-”

Billy snapped his head around, “And you know what we’re up against?” He grinned, his teeth glowing in the darkness of the stairwell. “Every explanation of this whole… _situation_ has been utter bullshit, as far as I’m concerned.” Billy shifted his feet, cascading shadows across the walls from the roll of the flashlight underneath him. “So I’m working under the assumption that nobody has any idea what the hell is going on. _So-_ ” Billy dropped his hand from Steve’s chest and shoved the bat towards him. “If you wanna be helpful, hold onto the goddamn bat.”

Steve glared for a second before taking it. Billy leaned down to lift the flashlight up from under his foot. He sighed and checked the door one more time before taking a step down the stairs.

The bottom of the staircase held the damp memories of a cavern, water dripping sluggishly from the ceiling, like the pipes in the place were minutes away from freezing solid. Billy looked up at them, then down, stepping around a rust-colored puddle on the cement floor. Steve, though, caught the edge of it with his sneaker. The ripples pulsed over the surface, obscuring the bottom. Making the water darken, deepening it enough to make Billy’s gut grow wary of it.

Billy’s finger’s slipped instinctively into the corner of Steve’s elbow, dragging him sideways. Steve followed his direction, stepping around the water as the ripples evened out into a dark brown glass. Billy pulled his hand back from Steve’s arm, placed it instead on the door handle leading into the next room.

The cold from the metal settled into his bones, and for a second Billy’s fingers stiffened, itched to chase the warmth again. Which was stupid, because they weren’t here, _together_ , for any other reason besides the fact that nobody else _useful_ was answering.

Billy checked over his shoulder. Steve was still, waiting, but the click of the door handle startled him, and he reached out, a little too wildly, brushing his fingers along the bottom edge of Billy’s jacket. He whispered Billy’s name suddenly, cutting himself off almost as soon as he started.

Billy let up on the handle, turning himself around. They made eye contact for a second before Steve dropped his head. Steve kicked his sneaker into the cement, painting the toe brick-colored as he did. He held himself stiffly, letting each small kick rebound sharply through his legs.

“What are-” Steve sighed, flicked his hair out of his eyes. “Why are you here?”

The metal of the door handle warmed as Billy’s fingers tightened around it. “Don’t think too hard about it, princess.”

“Too late, Hargrove.” Steve dug his hand into the pocket of his jeans. “Five months ago you threatened to kill us all and now you turn around so you can, I dunno, be the _hero_ or something?”

Billy dropped the door handle and spun. “Are you _fucking_ kidding me?”

Steve crossed his arms.

“You think I have a goddamn _hero complex_?” Billy’s upper lip tightened, exposing his teeth. “You think I’m about to walk into this creepy-ass basement in the middle of the woods because I’m a _show-off_?”

Steve wavered. Billy took a step into his space. “Look, _princess_ , I apologized for that, and you can take it or leave it, I don’t give a shit. But if you follow me through this door, you should probably stop gripping at that bat like it’s still meant for me.”

Steve furrowed his eyebrows and loosened his hands. “I wasn’t- I wouldn’t _hit_ you.” He dug his palm into his hairline. “I didn’t mean it like that, okay?”

“So how _did_ you mean it?”

“I don’t know.” Steve dropped his arms, flipping his palms up towards the ceiling. "It's just a _question._ "

Billy huffed. "Yeah? Well I don't _owe_ you an explanation, Harrington."

"I didn't say you did." Harrington folded his arms, squeezing his fingers into his elbows. “It’s just- nobody _asked_ you to be here.”

Billy paused before turning away, back towards the door. “Yeah, well-” He kicked a rock into a corner of the room. “Nobody _asked_ El to fling a coffee table at my asshole father. So.”

Before Steve could respond, Billy reached a hand out, dropping his weight onto the door handle with a hard click.

He opened the door into a dark hallway.

 

***

 

“We’re _lost,_ Billy” Steve groaned, trudging along on Billy’s heels.

Billy held his eyes forward, picking up his pace. “I’m not _lost,_ I’m just... figuring it out.”

“Based on what? We can’t see shit down here. Everything looks the same.” Steve said. Billy heard Steve’s footsteps slow, probably expecting Billy to do the same. Billy walked faster.

“They’re _not._ ”

Billy tightened his grip on the flashlight. Because, yeah, so what if they all looked the same. Everything was walled in concrete, metal doors with heavy handles separated empty rooms, bisected long hallways that took ninety degree turns in odd places until they dead-ended, stopping at unfinished at piles of dirt and rock.

The place was cold, uninviting enough to make him wish he was at home for once. But Billy knew it somehow. His head ached. Maybe a gas leak. Maybe they were slowly running out of oxygen until they wasted up and died down here. The headaches though, they tripped over the look of a door or a crack in the cement, flaring up all at once into a burning, a red-hot warning sign that read “ _get the fuck out now_ ” because he had damn good instincts that didn’t appreciate being ignored.

No.

They weren’t instincts. Bubbling up in his skin was a feeling. One that had charred him so deeply, one he had buried down underneath scar tissue, stared so long at the surface of it that he had forgotten the damage underneath. Billy thought about Neil’s anger when he brought up his nightmares. The nightmares he had of long dark hallways and of the awful things that happened between them. He remembered the fear. Not his, but Neil’s. The way Neil’s eye’s- and his fists- went wild when Billy used to talk about the ‘dark place.’ The way Neil insisted that it was all just one fucking bad dream.

It wasn’t. A dream. Or a nightmare.

Billy knew this place because he had _been here_ before.

He stepped over a black ‘x’ spray painted into the wall. His head thumped, the pain knocking his eyes shut for a brief second.

He stopped walking.

Steve didn’t react in time, bumping into Billy’s back. “ _Jesus_ , what-”

Billy checked over his shoulder, his glare cutting Steve off mid sentence. “It’s this way.” He stated, pointing towards a door. 

The room they entered glowed slightly from the hazy white of tile across the floor. Stale chlorine filled the air, and a low hum buzzed in the background, interrupted only by a distant drip of water. The ceiling was raised slightly, although it was still cluttered with pipes and valves stuck into cement.

Billy scanned the room for an exit, didn’t find one. His gut rolled over and his chest tightened. He dug his fingernails into his palms and took a breath. It was not the time to fucking panic. He squinted his eyes as they blurred slightly, trying to figure out if this was another goddamn dead end. Maybe if they had a brighter flashlight it wouldn’t be so impossible to move around here. He smacked it against his palm, gripped his fingers around the lid to screw the top on tighter-

“ _BILLY-_ ”

Billy turned his head, confused, but understood as soon as the ground dropped out from under him. He registered the feeling of wet and he flung the flashlight, just as his body, his arms, his head submerged into darkness, the splashing in his ears deafening compared to the _drip, drip, drip_ of the pipes above. His eyes were open, but nothing existed in the underground pool, his feet kicked sluggishly, weighted down by his boots and his jeans. His fingertips brushed the surface before his momentum sucked him further down.

Billy’s memories shook loose all at once. He thought about the nightmares. The nightmares that turned out to be real. About getting trapped there. Submerged. Underwater. People in bright white lab coats barely visible from the surface. He remembered the electricity. The recordings. The experiments. The pain and the hospital and the syringes and beeping and gowns and the number.

004.

Billy felt hands. Reaching down past his head to grip onto his jacket, yanking him upwards towards the ledge. His arms pulled up to grab the wrists that were pulling on him, and he felt a rush of relief to have something solid to hold on to. He broke the surface, spinning himself around as he did, reaching desperately for the stone wall along the edge.

Steve stared back at him from the side, frozen. The flashlight glowed behind him, lighting up the ends of his hair, but leaving his face in a deep shadow. His mouth was hung open, quivering slightly with cold, or something. His eyes were wide open, the brown turned to solid black in the low light.

Billy heaved himself onto the floor as Steve let go, frantically sliding himself backwards away from the water.

“Steve-” Billy started, making his way over to him. “Steve, I’m- It’s okay.”

Steve didn’t respond, breathed hard, eyes locked on the ripples ghosting along the surface of the water.

 _Pools,_ Billy remembered. Pools were one of those _things_. The things that were too much, now, for Steve.

Billy approached slowly. Water rolled off of his clothes, his face. His shirt stuck sloppily against his chest. He tugged a hand into his hair, squeezing it out.

“Steve-”

“ _Shut up_.” Steve interrupted. Air ran shakily between his teeth, which were half-clenched, guarding against the yell he had locked into his throat.

Steve swallowed it down. “Just.. just _shut up._ ”

Billy froze where he stood. Listened to the drips splashing onto the tile. He opened his mouth but Steve was already ahead of him.

“Billy, I swear to god,” Steve’s fingers pressed into the tile floor. “I don’t need you to give me shit right now, just give me a fucking _second,_ okay?”

Billy’s shoulders hunched and he pitched himself forward, crouching on one knee while planting his hands on Harrington’s upper arms, placing himself between Steve and the pool. “No, _Harrington._ I will not give you a fucking _second_ , Because the second you stop and think about what in the hell ever happens down here is the second we end up dead.”

Harrington glared. Billy bared his teeth. “I fell into a pool. Because I’m a moron who doesn’t watch where he’s going and that’s _it._ So you can stop daydreaming about all the monsters under your bed and start thinking about the fact that I’m freezing my ass off and would really like to borrow your coat.”

Steve’s lungs deflated and he narrowed his eyes. “ _Asshole.”_

Billy released his arms as Steve started pulling his hands through his coat sleeves. He retrieved the flashlight he had tossed and turned back to grab the coat from Steve. He poked his arms through it, doubling it over in the front to wrap himself in it.

He tucked his chin into the collar, the smell of cologne drifting into his nose, along with the stale, wet, dried-leaf aroma that settles in after spending too much time in the frozen wilderness.

Harrington gripped his own elbows against the chill of the basement. He looked exposed, suddenly, wearing a dark red shirt, the ends of the sleeves wrapped into his balled-up fists to keep them warm. He dragged the toe of his shoe impatiently along the tile.

Billy swallowed down the thank you that was rolling around in his head. Billy needed Steve pissed off, needed him hard-edged and angry if they were going to get out of this place. Billy would be the bait if it meant Steve would stay away from the fear, stop himself from fraying at the edges.

Billy pointed to a dark corner of the room with the flashlight. There was a door, one that he remembered, hidden around a corner. One that the headaches knew well. He paced over to it. Steve followed.

“Hey-” Billy stopped in front of the door, running his fingers along the edge of his coat pockets- Harrington’s coat pockets. Glancing at Steve for a moment before locking his eyes back toward the door. “Are you- are you good, Harrington?”

Steve paused, and Billy could feel him staring into the back of his head. “Yeah. I’m alright.”

Billy pushed through the door into a wave of white light.

 

***

 

Billy blinked, aligning the walls of his nightmares, his _memories,_ with the hallway in front of him. The white tile had yellowed, but he knew the rooms well enough. Knew the turns. Knew the cracks and the smells and the raw fear that lingered in the air.

Billy looked to the side, running his finger along the outside edge of a one-way mirror, flicking the dust off onto the ground. The bright lights reflected against it, and he took in his reflection. His soggy clothes and the water droplets, still rolling along his jawline and onto the floor.

His head had been shaved clean, back then. That was different. Back then was not _now_.

It wasn’t.

Billy connected with the pair of eyes staring back at him. They were achingly blue, haunting, but not afraid. Never _afraid_.

All the while, they never quite _relaxed_ either, especially without the help of alcohol burning down his throat or the sting of a cigarette. They were sharp all the time, not with the aggression of a predator, as everyone- _Steve-_ would probably assume, but with the keenness of one who was hunted, and could be hunted again.

Back then was not now, but this place lived on like an untouched crypt, and maybe it had been twelve years, or maybe no time had passed at all. Really, how would he know?

“Steve.“ Billy said to himself, an answer to his own question, but Harrington heard anyway.

Back then was not _now_ . Everything else was getting mixed between past and present, his nightmares and everything he saw now, scrambling his head so that it _hurt_.

Harrington was different, though. Undeniably _now_ , and not _then_. He stared back at Billy, his eyes soft but reading confusion.

“It’s that room.” Billy nodded towards a steel door, behind it a room with no windows, and walls that returned sound to you as fast as it left your mouth.

“How do you-“ Steve answered quietly, letting his words trail off. Deciding his question was better left unfinished in the stale, still air.

Billy ignored it hanging there, for now, and opened the door without resistance. The keypad on the lock had been fried, stuck open.

When the light from the hallway cut into the room, El was seated at a steel table, her hands and feet attached to it with metal. Blood had dripped from her nose, but dried underneath it. She was already staring at Billy when he entered the room. The overhead light was dim, half burnt out and flickering lowly.

They had found her.

Billy smacked a button to the right of the door, without looking, that released the metal rings around her wrists and ankles. He let out a breath and walked closer.

She got up, circling the table to land against Billy’s chest in a hug. “Asshole.” She said, grinning.

Billy returned the hug, cracking a smile back at her. “You know, just because all your little friends call me that doesn’t mean _you_ have to.”

El looked up at him, shrugged. “Learned it first.”

She turned her attention towards Steve, who was cautiously watching the interaction. She wrapped her arms around him too before looking suspiciously back at Billy. “You’re wet.”

“Fell into a pool.” Billy answered casually. He tilted his head at the door. “You fry the lock?”

El smiled, lips pressed together. “And the lights.” She frowned and looked at the faint bruises on her wrists. “Not enough for the handcuffs.”

Billy tugged the end of his jacket sleeve- his wet one- under his thumb. He wiped the blood away from under El’s nose.

She rolled her eyes- something she had undoubtedly learned from Max- but didn’t push him away. “How’d you end up here, anyway?” Billy asked.

El’s face darkened, and Billy noted how her hands gripped into fists, how her teeth were set together, pressing against each other. “The men came back.”

“How’d they find you, though?” Steve asked, tugging at a hair at the base of his neck. “Everyone was careful.”

“They didn’t find me.” She started. Steve looked confused.

“They weren’t looking for me.” She explained further. She took a slow breath and shifted her eyes to Billy. They stared for a moment, unsure, stuck halfway in between pity and an apology. “They were looking for _him_.”

Steve looked between them silently. Billy was frozen. Even with the headaches and the distant memories Billy had assumed he was on the fringe of the whole situation, something forgotten in the two thousand miles that had separated him from Indiana for the better part of his childhood. He never thought, never considered that he would suddenly find himself at the very center.

El continued, her voice low, laced with an iron nerve, the same fiery attitude that Billy felt all too familiar with in himself. “Instead, I found them first.” She stated.

Billy shook his head, scattering the stiffness that had taken over his chest. His voice was thick. “The hell do they want with me?”

“Don’t know,” El stated, starting over to the cabinets, rummaging around in stacks of papers until she pulled out a yellow file folder. It read “William Hargrove” across the tab. The word "failed" was stamped across the front, in inky red. 

“But,” she said, her eyes dark as she held the file out to Billy. “You were the only one that didn’t work.”

Billy didn’t reach for it, only stared back at her. Steve took a small step back from Billy, gaped at him, his face torn, trying to decide if this new information made Billy more or less of a monster.

He closed his mouth, undecided, and turned to El. “And you- you stopped them already, right?”

El dragged her eyes off Billy, skipping over Steve and instead landing them on the door.

“All but one.”

At that moment the lights went black.

 

***

 

Without the humming of the electricity, the place was eerily silent for a beat before El snatched the flashlight out of Billy’s hand. A distant growl rumbled down the hallway.

“They’re here.” She whispered, moving towards the door, closing her eyes to concentrate. “The dogs. We have to go, _now._ ”

El pushed the door open into the dark hallway. She paused as they looked back towards the direction they came from, hearing the growls more clearly that way.  

“Elevator.” She decided, taking off the other way.

“The power’s out.” Billy protested as he moved his feet to follow her.

She peeked over her shoulder, the determined look in her eyes overtaking the exhaustion that laid across her shoulders. “I can fix it.”

They raced down the hallways. Right, left, right, right, left, down a short staircase and into a cement room, the doors of a service elevator, heavy with dark twisted metal, staring towards them.

Ahead of that though, sickly brown water pooled in front of them, an ever-growing puddle, too long to jump and almost knee-deep. A loud hiss came from behind a metal door at the center. The ceiling sagged, wires spilling out of the middle and into the water.

Billy stopped in front of it. “Pipe burst.” He muttered, motioning towards the door. “In there, sounds like.”

He glanced at Steve, who looked pale, more nauseous than he had before. They didn’t have time, though, for _that._ A growl from down the hallway reminded them, along with a faint scratching of paws.

El went first, splashing into the puddle fearlessly, trusting her footing and turning her head to hurry them forward.

Billy leaned in towards Steve, tugging at the end of his shirt sleeve by his wrist to get his attention. His _full_ attention. Billy spoke when Steve met his eyes, roughly, built up with more meanness than he actually felt. “Steve, it’s a fucking puddle.”

Steve nodded and swallowed, understanding the situation they were in, the stakes, all of it. Billy gripped his fist tightly before turning towards the elevator. “So let’s _go_.”

Billy sunk his boot into the puddle, his jeans, already damp but now freshly soaked through. He stomped ahead, his feet weightless and heavy at the same time, bobbing in and out of the puddle until he got to the far edge.

He checked over his shoulder.

Steve was stepping his feet back and forth, but when Billy looked at him from the other side Steve met his eyes, resolved, and nodded his head again. He lifted his foot.

Sparks flew just before Steve touched the water and the short _zap_ of electricity cracked through the air before the lights hummed, the elevator coming to life at the end of the hallway.

The wires swung slightly into the water, making a strange buzzing noise as they did. Steve backed away from the puddle but the growling got closer.

“Steve, the dogs-“ Billy started, leaning forward, meaning to cross the puddle again, _drag_ Steve to the elevator if he had to.

“ _Stop_.” El demanded, sticking her arm out before he could take a step. “The wires.” She explained. Billy shoved her arm off anyway, frustrated.

“So _turn them off.”_ Billy said back in a growl.

El shook her head, turning away from Billy and towards the puddle. When she spoke her voice was smaller. “I _can’t_ ”

Billy looked back towards Steve. His face was glowing with orange from the sparks, the movement chasing shadows into the edges of the hallway. 

Steve moved his mouth to speak, but the air was sucked out of him, so Billy saw the word more than heard it.

“ _Go.”_

Billy squared his feet in Steve’s direction. “I’m not leaving _.”_ He said.

Steve furrowed his brow. “You’re dead if you touch that puddle.”

Billy swallowed, the electric sparks dancing in front of his eyes. “You're dead if I leave you here.” His voice echoed along the dark ripples at his feet.

Steve gripped his bat, balancing it on his shoulder. He set his shoulders, building up anger, steeling himself against the monsters who were charging down the hall.

“Like you give a shit.” Steve dropped.

Billy took a step backward and felt El tugging on his sleeve. He wanted to stay, but Steve was already turned around, both hands on the bat like he was standing at home plate. El practically dragged him back to the elevator, his feet feeling heavy and weightless all at once, even outside the puddle.

El smacked the button for the floor above them and they watched Steve swing, full force, just before the elevator doors slid shut.

“Get me back to him.” Billy demanded through his teeth, his hands turning into fists inside the sleeves of Harrington’s coat.

El stared forward, the same pulsing, pissed off energy let loose between them.

“I know.”

 

***

 

El had a plan, thankfully, and she bolted the second the elevator doors could let her slip through. Billy followed, not bothering to look at his surroundings, tunneling in with the fact that he needed to get back to Harrington. And _fast_.

So he didn’t notice where they were headed. Or maybe he noticed where they were headed, but his brain hadn’t shaken it loose yet after being forced into denial for so long.

The room wasn’t far. El found the double doors and slammed herself through them. Billy followed, and entered into a two story room. They stood on a metal walkway, overlooking the floor below them. In the center was a pit of blackness, ashy particles emanating from its center. Vines reaching through to the tile floor.

So this was the gate. Or _a_ gate, since El had _supposedly_ closed one gate already. The air felt like molasses in Billy’s lungs, coating his throat, moving sluggishly through his nose and mouth.

El’s feet clanked down the metal staircase that circled around the edge of the room. She faced forward. Pretended she didn’t notice it, didn’t feel the way it pulled at them, threatened to swallow up everything they held close.

Billy scowled as they reached the bottom, circling back towards the door on the bottom floor, the floor that they had left Steve on. He didn’t have time for gates or experiments or for figuring out what the fuck was _actually_ going on.

They left the room, turning their backs on the much larger nightmare to go hunt down whatever was hunting them. Billy grabbed a stray chunk of cement of the floor, shoving his file in El’s direction. He ran ahead of her, recognizing the hallway again. Right, left, right, right, left, down a short staircase and-

Harrington was leaned against a wall, his left arm hanging uselessly by his side, a demodog circling in front of him, baring its face full of teeth. Billy choked on the smell of burnt hair and rotted flesh filling the air. Two demodogs lay on the ground, one burnt to a crisp in the puddle, another with its face bashed in against the floor.

Harrington must’ve heard them approach, because he stood up a little straighter, but he didn’t move his eyes from the demodog. He raised his bat, heaving it over his shoulder, even though he looked like he might keel over from the change in weight.

Billy sprinted forward, chucking his rock at the dog’s ribs. It hit, hard, but the dog only squealed and turned its head. Billy watched its lips pull back in a snarl.

Billy circled to the side, trying to close the distance between him and Steve without enticing the dog into a full attack. Not yet.

Billy stopped slowly. Thinking vaguely about basketball, his coach telling him to stay on his toes, be patient, draw the charge. He chanced a glance at Steve, making sure he was paying attention.

Impatient, the dog growled loudly, it’s hind legs compressing and then springing forward in a powerful jump. It’s mouth was open, teeth sticking out in every direction.

But Billy was ready. He dodged to the side, low, staying on his feet while reaching forward towards Steve.

“ _Nail bat, now.”_

Steve looked startled, but his reflexes were always sharp, and he pushed the bat in Billy’s direction. Billy caught it in his right hand as he heard the dog beginning another attack, practically screeching behind his back.

Billy didn’t hesitate, and the second his fingers were fully gripped around the bat he turned and swung, leveled to the ground, not even bothering to look first.

He made contact, feeling the nails force themselves into the creatures side. It squealed, an awful, sickly wail, before twitching on the floor.

Billy tugged the nail bat out of the dog’s side, it’s body sliding an inch or two before he pulled it free.

Billy dropped the bat with a _clang_ and walked silently over to Steve, who had sunk lower down the wall, ducking his head against the sound of the screeches.

Moving silently, Billy lowered himself down in front of Steve. He reached out slowly, wrapping one arm around Steve’s side and the other around the back of his head, into the hair at the base of his neck.

“I said I wasn’t leaving you.” Billy stated.

Steve relaxed into Billy’s grip, taking hard breaths of the rotten air surrounding them, until his shoulders finally dropped, realizing fully that maybe he wasn’t about to end up dead, down in the frozen basement of a hospital.

Billy slid his arms away, backing up until he could see Steve’s arm, the one dangling at his side. There were tears in the shirt sleeve, and Billy pulled up the whole thing to get a better look.

The scratches bled, but weren’t as deep as Billy had expected. It was a bite, but it looked like Steve had yanked his hand away, hadn’t let the monster chomp down fully. His wrist though, was purple and swollen, twisted harshly in the wrong direction.

He would be okay, at least. They could get him out.

Billy stood up fully, offering his hands out to help Steve do the same. He took the help, but leaned down after to pick up his nail bat again, now freshly covered in a new layer of grime.

They made their way back to the elevator. Anxiously avoiding the gate, as they circled it, focusing only on getting the fuck out of this place as fast as they could.

Steve swayed occasionally, but Billy kept checking over his shoulder, making sure he wasn’t going to topple over. All the way until they landed safely along the back of the elevator.

El hit the button for the main floor.

Billy and Steve spilled out of the elevator, into the dim evening glow of the main hallway.

Billy felt his feet speed up towards the entrance. They felt airy, frantic, as they pulled him towards the woods. They were almost there. Even the forest was better than this fucking place.

He caught Steve in his peripherals, his sneakers stained with mud, his hair matted with sweat. Looking worse for wear but _okay_ , at least.

They were okay. They were going to get the fuck out of this place. They were halfway to the end already. Billy could almost feel the nighttime breeze across his face.

_BANG._

Billy stopped. Everything stopped.

Billy blinked, staring at the streaks of moonlight coming in from the doors, almost close enough for him to touch. He slowly looked down at himself, his breathing caught and his teeth stuck together, waiting for pain to him like a brick wall. Except it didn’t. Because he was fine. He was okay. So then-

Billy checked over his shoulder, his breaths rushing to catch up.

Steve’s eyes met Billy’s, his mouth stuck in a sickening frown, his eyes suddenly sunken into the circles underneath him. He was standing, for now, but his feet stumbled backwards and his hands moved up, dropping the bat with a jarring _clang,_ looking for something to grab hold of, something close enough for him to steady himself with.

Billy moved. Closed the space between them, slipping his hands under Steve’s arms, his eyes searching over Steve’s body until he caught the dark stain of blood soaking into his shirt, at the bottom of his ribs, looking more like a dark, growing shadow with the deep red color. “Steve-” He choked.

Steve’s fists closed around the front of Billy’s shirt while the energy melted out of his legs. Billy pulled him in, wrapping his arms around Steve to hold him up. Billy breathed in against Steve’s head, pulling in the smell of Steve’s hair.

Billy looked around frantically, his eyes wild until they finally settled on a door. The door to the stairwell, why the _fuck_ hadn’t he checked the door. It was cracked open, a gun pointed through it extended out from a stark white sleeve.

The man pushed out into the hallway, the recognition making Billy’s brain pound against his skull.

“William Hargrove,” he said, “you always _were_ more trouble than you were worth.”

Billy wanted to run, get the fuck out of this place, but with Steve slumped against his chest he could only take small steps backwards.

El stepped towards the man, her expression unlike any 14 year old Billy had ever seen. She put on the face of a soldier, hardened on the front lines.

“We should’ve killed you back then, instead of releasing you like some recovered animal.”

Steve made a grunting sound against Billy’s chest, and Billy adjusted his grip. He shuffled backwards more, relieved that El stood between him and the man.

“Think your old man would’ve liked that better.” He said, raising his gun at Billy.

He never got the shot off. El strained, closed her eyes and let out a scream. Her nose bled almost instantly, bright red against the muted blues and greys of the hospital. She lifted the man, smacking him into the wall, leaving him bleeding and unresponsive on the floor.

She wavered on her feet for a second before she turned. She looked back and forth from Steve to Billy, before her face broken and tears filled her eyes. “My fault.” she choked.

Billy just shook his head. His ears rang, making El sound distant, like the underground pool had swallowed all of them, holding them suspended there in the dark, weightless and heavy all at once. 

Time slowed for Billy, and Steve’s head leaned heavily on his shoulder. Steve’s hands had loosened and fallen to his sides. As time dragged forward Billy was dimly aware of how fast everything was going, because what did he really have left- minutes? seconds? Steve was slipping but if Billy could just have a minute then he could figure out what to do. 

“C’mon, princess, we’re getting out of here.” Billy’s voice sounded muffled, slurred and distant.

Steve’s breath ran weakly over Billy’s collarbone.

“Billy-”

Steve was interrupted by a cough. A wet, choked cough, bringing up blood along with it. He continued, red running from the corner of his mouth. “I’m not getting out of here.”

Billy’s gut rolled over and his face filled with heat. He knitted his eyebrows. “ _Fuck you_.”

Steve smiled weakly at that, letting out a huff of air. “Asshole.”

The weight made Billy’s arms ache, and he lowered Steve to the ground, steadying his head by mazing his fingers into Steve’s hair.

Billy's fingers went to Steve's shirt, trying to find where the blood was coming from, pressing into it when he did. The floor was cold compared to Steve's body, blood pooling in shadows along the tile. Another cough, this one more just for show, a dulled reflex. 

Don't die. 

Steve's eyes fluttered, and Billy put a hand to his forehead, dragging it over the soft brown hair. 

Steve closed his eyes, smiled softly. "You're not so bad after all." He breathed. 

He didn't breathe again. Billy felt the solidity of Steve's chest underneath his palm, unmoving. _Breathe_ , dammit. "Steve-"

Billy's shook Steve's shoulders. "Steve, you asshole, I said _breathe."_

Panic rose up in Billy's chest, and he lifted his hands up. He didn't know what to do. There _was_ nothing to do. Steve was-

No. 

_Don't die._

But the blood. There was so much goddamn blood. 

It didn't matter. It didn't. Steve was getting out, he had to. He wasn't-

Billy looked at Steve's face, saw how the color had eased out of it in the last few seconds, cold and flat. He had to do something. 

He _had_ to. 

A rush of pain _cracked_ through to the front of Billy’s skull, blinding him for a second in a mess of static. His arms tensed all at once, grabbing tightly around Harrington’s upper arms. Billy’s breathing caught and he felt afraid, finally, because Steve was a fucking wreck and Billy’s head hurt so much he mashed his teeth together to keep from screaming.

This wasn’t the headaches. It was _worse_. It felt like something was ripping through his brain scattering everything and then putting it back together.

He opened his eyes and his gut rolled over, newly adjusting to the sight of blood, the colors blown out and intensified with all his senses working at a thousand percent. His hands were squeezing, hard enough to bruise individual fingerprints into Steve’s skin.

Something was off, though, about Harrington. Something flushed and warm, something gentle and soft and _feeling_ about him that turned the whole situation on a corner. In his peripherals he saw shadows drawing in as long streaks of headlights made their way through the trees.

A drop of blood slid out of Billy’s nose and onto his lip.

Billy wiped it away with his sleeve. And he knew, somehow, but he sure as hell didn’t understand. He looked up with El, slowly, to see her already staring back. She knew too.

Harrington was going to be okay.

 

***

 

Five days later, Harrington was released from the hospital.

And no, Billy hadn’t visited, not with all of Steve’s family and friends showing up with presents and gossip from school like it was another stupid house party. Like Steve was recovering from a “hunting accident,” as Hopper had called it, instead of from someone actually trying to kill him. Billy hated small towns. People showed up with baskets and balloons and whatever else, treating it like a field trip because nothing else exciting ever happened in the middle of nowhere Indiana. 

Plus, Billy had his own shit to deal with, because he had gotten tired of coming up with _explanations_ for Neil. Decided that maybe it was time for Billy to be asking for explanations. Maybe this time he had enough proof. Enough that Neil couldn't shove it away, say it wasn't real and bury it out in the backyard.

It was a stupid idea. 

Billy ended up on the floor of his bedroom, black eye throbbing, the taste of iron in his mouth, Neil’s answer ringing around his head the same way it had always been. Amplified, now, because how could it _not_ be, when it was up against so much that Billy knew. Neil's words standing up dumbly against the papers hidden under Billy's bed. 

Same shit, different goddamn day.

Some days Billy's bedroom was cozy, warm. _His,_ if nothing else. Today the walls felt too tight, and Billy could feel the papers nagging at him from underneath. He had read it. All of it. More than enough times to get the point. He didn't want to think about it though. Not tonight.

Billy looked out his window. 

 

***

 

There was a snowstorm coming, one that would slush over the streets, but not before covering everything in a deep black layer of ice. The streets were abandoned, empty in the face of the incoming drop in temperature.

Billy drove.

It was cold. Harrington’s coat was still in the back seat, so Billy slipped it over his shoulders. The trees slipped past his window, the light fading into them, just like it had on _that_ day, which had been the same as every other day, otherwise, except that now it burned brightly, pressing waves of heat into his forehead. He ignored them. It was too goddamn cold to leave it off because of a little dried blood.

A lot. It had been a _lot_. 

The overpass appeared around a curve and Billy adjusted his foot to the brake pedal. The half of it was shrouded in trees, the highway underneath stepped back far enough so that the bridge held a sort of shelter, walled in by overgrown bushes.The overpass had a dirt pulloff before it, so it was good for buying weed or beer or for making out with the rich chicks who didn't want to get caught by their daddies.

On other days. 

Today it was just for Billy, leaning against the scratched metal of the guardrail. 

The snow fell heavier. Cars became more and more scarce. They crawled under the overpass, the growing layer of snow groaning under the tires. Billy’s fingers stiffened around his cigarette, a bluish tint edging into his nails.

Time passed slowly, as it often did when Billy was avoiding home, and everyone else. The faint glow of Hawkins- and it was  _ faint- _ played along the horizon as the sun slipped off to the west coast. The newly laid snow lit up the sky in a haze, making it feel like the sunrise was any minute now, like a whole night had somehow passed while Billy was burning down his cigarette into ash, dropping it off the side of the road and into the snow bank beneath him. 

Another car came, one that Billy knew, but he didn’t look as it came up the overpass, stopped, turned off its lights.

He was busy, studying the snowflakes waving in and out of the smoke drawing from his newly lit cigarette.

“Where the  _ hell _ have you been?”

Billy leaned his elbows into the guardrail, blowing out another puff of smoke, losing his cadence, the air moving more hurriedly than he meant it to. He smiled, because of Steve, admittedly, but not _for_ Steve, since he was still down the road, too far away to see with the veil of snow.

So he really was okay.

Max had told him, through his bedroom door, but after everything that happened, Steve still seemed like a ghost, a delusion that would blow away in the faintest wind, uncovering the awful truth that maybe he _had_ died, back at the hospital. Except- here he was, making footprints in the snow. Alive.

“Didn’t think we had a  _ date _ , Harrington.” Billy said back.

Steve ran his foot into a cracked off chunk of road. His hair was collecting snow, and he looked cold, wrapped loosely in a thin sweater. His cheeks were red, bitten by the wind from the road. “Screw you, Max hasn’t even seen you all week.”

“I was  _ busy _ .” Billy said plainly.

“Busy skipping school?” Steve asked.

_Jesus,_ this town was all gossip. Billy flattened a section on snow by his boot. “You come all this way to take attendance?”

The sound of Steve crunching through the snow stopped, and he was  _ close _ all of a sudden, near enough that Billy could see the snowflakes clearly now, fractals sticking themselves in Steve’s hair.

“ _ Billy-“   _ Steve wrapped his fingers into the fabric at his elbows. “Jesus  _ Christ,  _ can we just  _ talk _ ?”

“‘Bout what?” Billy responded.

Steve’s hand flew towards the shoulder of Billy’s coat- Harrington’s coat- and tugged, turning Billy away from the tire tracks on the road below.

“You  _ know-“ _

Steve’s voice trailed off, into the dampened air around him. His brow wrinkled, trying to match Billy’s black eye and split lip with something that happened at the hospital. 

Billy faced him fully, making lines in the snow as he dragged his feet. His boots groaned against the ground, heavy and wet.

“My old man,” Billy pointed to his face. “Wan’t too happy to have me  _ talking _ about things.”

Steve shifted his feet, in  _ boots _ this time, not sneakers. An improvement. “Yeah?” He responded, setting his jaw. “Well he’s not  _ here _ .”

Billy placed his elbows back on the guardrail. “S’pose so.” 

Steve paused for a second before sliding next to Billy, his head tilting briefly to see the road below before turning his attention. “What  _ happened _ , Billy?”

Like Billy knew. If anyone could answer that question, it was El. Billy didn’t  _ remember,  _ exactly.  Because there was nothing _to_ remember. Something just  _ happened. _  And it had worked.

“Hell if I know.” Billy responded truthfully.

“You have the file though-” 

“Wasn’t in it.”

“But you  _ knew _ in the lab, you knew you were-“

“An experiment? A  _ failed _ experiment?”

“But you- it didn’t fail.”

Billy put his cigarette out against the guardrail, which hissed into the layer of snow. 

“ _Christ,_ Harrington, do you  _ really _ wanna know what happened? I was trapped in that hellhole for  _ months _ . Same shit every day because they were too stupid too figure out what I could actually do." Billy stepped into Steve's space, the fogginess from his words dissipating into thin air between them. 

“ _Then,_ they give up and send me back to my fuckhead father like a package of recalled meat, who throws a mean right hook every time I mention anything about a hospital. But it wasn't over, because a decade later, you drag me back inside that place, just so you can get yourself fucking _shot,_  and all I can think is this bastard better not _die,_ because-"

Billy stopped cold. He looked at Steve. His breath hung in the air, foggy in the cold, but disappeared into the space following Billy's words. 

_Because._

The cold stung into Billy's fingers. How long had he been out here? It wasn't morning, it was still evening. He took a deep breath, disturbing the falling snow in front of his face. Steve stood still in front of him, frozen into a picture with the snow, the soft white glow playing at his jaw. 

_Because._

Billy's fingers reached out, finding fistfuls of Steve's shirt, dragging him forward. It surprised him, because everything was half a dream when it came to the hospital, chalked up to to a child's imagination, so Steve being real, and _here_ , felt strangely out of place. 

He chased the warmth of Steve's skin, breathing into the space between them until he pressed his mouth against Steve's, moving his arms to bring him closer, warmer, more into Billy's space, Billy's  _world_ as a reminder that this was real, this was here, and Steve was okay. 

He was okay. 

Steve moved his arms around Billy, under the warmth of his coat. His cheeks were bright red against the muted colors of the woods. "I really- I just wanted to say thanks." He said softly. 

Billy dropped his head slightly, pressing his mouth against Steve's collarbone, muffling his words. "Don't worry princess, 's nothing."

 

**Author's Note:**

> Note: The name "Spare the Dying" is a Dnd spell that basically does what Billy does in the story. And I love Dnd, so there you go.


End file.
